


Now, Yesterday, Forevermore

by Skam_enthusiast



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Field Trip, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Smut, M/M, two boys one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skam_enthusiast/pseuds/Skam_enthusiast
Summary: Post piano scene AU where Lucas and Eliott are still dancing around their feelings for each other and their mutual attraction, but things start to heat up when there’s a mix up on the school field trip and they have to share a room.





	Now, Yesterday, Forevermore

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, please be kind. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! Alt er Love!

**L:**

I’m jolted awake by a body crashing into me, my own bouncing a little from the sudden burst of pressure on the bus seat beside me. I look at him, this new bus companion whose sharp hip bone and strong shoulder knocked me back to reality, the sky now dark and my classmates and I on the beginning of a field trip to Versailles.

His sly smile catches the light as the bus carries on down the road, passing under streetlights. His face flashes from light to dark, light to dark, blinking like a firefly, but his eyes remain steady, intense. I can see why he told me his spirit animal is a raccoon--the dark does things to the sharpness of his face, the wild puff of his hair.

I gulp, realizing that I haven’t said anything and have been so deep in my own thoughts that I honestly don’t know if he’s said anything yet and I just missed it or if he’s just sitting there, looking back at me under the sporadic slice and burst of light from outside.

“Hey,” he says, his shoulders turning towards me but also somehow folding in on themselves a little, as if he launched himself over here and, once he got this close, suddenly became shy or something.

**E:**

I had bitten my fingernails down to their beds watching him, his face so much softer when he is sleeping, without his guard up his cheekbones were somehow less severe, his pale skin almost glowing angelic as the sun set over the city. The bus drove us farther into darkness, casting him in an orange-golden light. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him--sunlight distilled, the light pouring over his dark hair, creating shadows in the shelves of his collarbones peeking out of his t-shirt. By the time everyone else had begun to whisper, or fall asleep like Lucas, or hook up (like Alex and Emma, both of whom I had unfortunately seen struggling under a blanket together before I was able to turn around and tell myself not to turn back again) I had made it through my playlist and was thoroughly bored, having no one to sit with and talk to, or even not talk to. Either way, it took me almost an hour of my heart hammering in my chest to actually do it, to fling myself over into his seat, though maybe I did it with a bit too much enthusiasm. I mean, I wanted to wake him, sure, but I didn’t want to slam into him (not like that, anyway).

“What time is it?” He asks, and his voice is a creaky whisper I could spend my whole life tied to. But I can’t think about that now--not this close to him, his leg and mine touching slightly, his bright blue eyes clearing out the cobwebs of my mind.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to show him the time, careful to keep my thigh against his in what I hope is a message, a small note passed between our bodies that says, ‘I want to touch you. Is this okay?’

He leaves his leg against mine, and I hope I’m not reading into it too much when I decide that’s it a message back, ‘I want to touch you, too.’

In reality, I say, “Did you know that in New York City you can request a tree to be planted on your street, and when it comes it has a little sign around it that says, I’m your new tree, take care of me?”

This is what I went with after running through all the usual ideas--how are you? Are you excited for the trip? This bus ride sure is bumpy--and everything else I could think of seemed trite and stupid. For a moment, a small, pulsing second after I’ve said the tree thing, I hold my breath and look at his face, wondering if this, too, was also a stupid thing to say.

“Really?” He whispers, and it’s his grin that gets me, his smile reaching up to his eyes, bringing his whole face to life. It takes everything in me not to reach across this tiny space between us just to trace the map of his smile, the curve of his lips. Instead, I sit on my hands and nod.

“Mmhmm,” I choke out, desperate not to be weird or focus on the fact that I have to literally sit on my own hands because they cannot be trusted this close to him. “I saw it on a documentary about the earth, and sustainability, and stuff.”

I swallow the thickness in my throat as he says, “That’s cool.” I slide one hand out from under me to run it through my hair, my thumb finding the place where my skull meets my neck just behind my ear and applying a bit of pressure, this thing I do to feel more grounded, to loosen the sometimes unconscious tightness in my jaw.

**L:**

“I saw this other thing,” he whispers, his voice gravelly yet soft, and I lean my head in closer, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my whole body. I am thankful for the dark because I can feel a flush begin to creep its way up my neck at this closeness, this intimacy. My stomach dips and his thigh against mine is burning me up, the heat that neither of us pulls away from makes me tingly and awake. Not five minutes ago I was sleepy, but now...now my blood cheers through my veins as he tells me about this huge beaver dam that can actually be seen from space.

“Like the Great Wall of China,” I say, my voice full of amazement because that’s pretty amazing, but also because even being this close to his face, I still can’t quite make out the colour of his eyes. They’re a mystery mixture of grey and blue, and they are icy, yet they burn into me. And the slope of his nose is somehow almost erotic--I bite my lip to refrain from reaching out to kiss the end of it. I never knew before that a nose could be beautiful. But between his lips that stretch and move as he talks about something to do with space, and the laugh lines that crinkle by his eyes as he tells me about wanting to be an astronaut as a kid--I’m gone. And I know this small match we’ve struck between us with just this one side of our legs touching in the dark is enough to live off of for now, but the longer we dance around each other, the more a part of me grows hungrier for the kind of bonfire heat our bodies could make.

“You wanted to be an astronaut?” I can feel the tug at the side of my mouth, a small smile at the thought of a little Eliott dreaming of the stars. “Not an artist?”

“Ah,” he says, his eyes flicking down and back up at me in some kind of flustered humility--whether it’s because I remembered his drawings or because I believe he’s an artist or what, I’m not sure.

“Actually, when I was a kid I told my parents that I would be an artist who lived on the moon.” His smile scrunches his whole face with the memory. And with this talk of the moon under the velvet blanket of night, I realize that I will gladly let myself ebb and flow in the pull of his tide, how he has flung a silver lasso around my heart and I am already so deep under his spell. I smile back at him (because how can I not?), and he tells me about how he wanted to paint the stars like Van Gogh but also float amongst them, and his piercing eyes linger on mine for long enough that I’m wondering, hoping, that he feels this too (because how can he not?).

E:

It grabs me like a fist around my sternum, the knowledge that he remembers my drawings, that he just called me an artist with his perfect lips and teeth and tongue. I try not to let this balloon me too far away but the vice grip on the center of me is both steadying and electric, and I think I felt my whole body stop working when he raised his eyebrows with the question, like suddenly I forgot how to exist beside him.

“What did you want to be when you were younger?” I ask him, trying to picture Lucas as a boy—Spider-Man pajamas and the same scrappy little dude in an even tinier body. My heart swoons thinking of him doing normal kid things—learning to ride a bike with a giant helmet on, building a sand castle on the beach and getting angry at the waves when they crash against it, him chasing the tide away, yelling.

“So,” he starts, and his tongue absentmindedly licks his lips (as he is about to explain something, but basically it does something to my body that is akin to firecrackers going off underneath my skin).

“You have to promise not to laugh, because it’s a secret.”

My chest blooms and swells— a secret with Lucas. We’ll share a secret. My hands under my thighs press deeper into the cracked leather of the seat.

“I promise,” I nod, hoping to appear earnest but not not show him the crazy-fireworks-excitement that is sizzling in my stomach.

“I wanted to be,” he bites on his lip, as if trying to stop himself from saying it. “I want to be...WAIT!” He yells, and it catches me off guard.

“Shhhh!” Other voices around us chime, others that I forgot existed outside of this thigh heat and his expressive eyebrows and this small universe of Lucas and I, and our soon to be shared secret.

He shrinks down in the seat, embarrassed, as if he had forgotten them, too.

“Oops,” he laughs quietly, and I slide down lower to be on his level, and also because my thigh needs to be pressed against his now and forevermore.

“What was I saying before I woke up the whole bus?” He asks, his face a question mark, those eyebrows peaked in concern.

“You were about to tell me the top secret thing you wanted to be when you were a kid,” I whisper, watching his face return to a small grin, his eyes wide.

“Right! But first you have to swear to secrecy!”

My hand comes up to cover my mouth and stifle a small laugh, but I love his enthusiasm—it makes me feel like I maybe shouldn’t be afraid to show him all that is sparking under my skin.

“I thought I did?”

He holds out his hand in front of me, his fist with just his pinky up in the air.

“Pinky swear.” His eyes dare me to touch his hand, to pinky swear, despite me hiding my hands under myself. It feels like an invitation, maybe more. I reach out my pinky and wrap it around his. The heat crackles between us as we link our fingers and I can imagine our bodies intertwined like this, can picture us laying together, all limbs and burning bonfire bodies, not knowing where I end and where he begins.

He lets go and I look away, fold my hands together in my lap to try and imprint that pinky swear into my muscle memory—the coolness of his fingers, the furious torch of his touch.

**L:**

“I wanted to be a farmer.”

I watch his face as his lips twist, but not into a smile— he’s not laughing at me, like I had thought. His mouth is pursed in consideration, his face thoughtful, as if he is picturing it. His eyes narrow as he asks in a gentle whisper, “And why did I have to be sworn to secrecy about that?”

I roll my eyes at him. “ _Because_ ,” I start, “it’s embarrassing! Most kids want to be, like, a firefighter or a superhero. Or an astronaut/artist.” He smirks in response and I shift my leg beside him, just a reflex to touch him more, the way a cat presses their head into you— with want, with a small, wordless request.

I can see his eyes darken, his chest rise and fall in a deliberate slow breath at the touch. It makes me feel powerful, to see this affect him so, but I also begin to flounder, wondering if his reaction is because I crossed the line. But if I did I’m hoping that he will cross it too, and join me over here.

When he doesn’t respond, I keep talking. “It was because of Charlotte’s Web. I genuinely thought that animals could talk and so I thought being a farmer would be the coolest thing in the world.” I can hear my voice getting higher and faster, can feel my thoughts getting tangled.

And then.

His leg moves against mine, up and down like… like a caress, like a message. And I find his eyes again and I feel like they say, “I want you,” and my body is thrumming from his leg and I feel bold. Bolder than before, so I do it back. I keep my eyes fixed on his and I rub my leg against his so there is no mistaking it and soon, our legs are moving together against each other and he’s looking at my mouth and my breathing is getting faster and I’m watching the shadows dance across his pointed features and then—

Someone groans behind us—a big, loud, unexpected groan of pain. “Unnngggghhhhhh.”

And I freeze.

Eliott and I both go still, my face filling with heat like we’ve been caught or something, pulled out of this moment and tossed back into the here and now.

“Basile, are you okay?” Arthur asks in the seat behind us. And I could seriously fucking kill basile for that groan, I really could.

“I really don’t feel so good…” he says, his voice at a normal volume sounding strange in what was, only moments ago, a quiet bus.

“I told you not to eat all those hamburgers, but you wanted to break Yann’s record!” Arthur hisses at him, and Eliott cocks an eyebrow at me, a small smile playing on his lips.

I shake my head in response. _Idiot_.

“I think… I think I’m gonna be sick!” Basile says and there’s an obvious reaction from the people around us, everyone starts to move and murmur and rustle around.

“Fuck, dude, if you yak on this bus when we still have an hour to go…” Yann starts, and Arthur is already making his way down the aisle of the bus to the driver.

“We’re stopping for you, Basile. Hold on for a minute!” Arthur yells back across the bus.

The bus slows down and pulls off to the side of the road, the gravel crunching and chipping loudly below the tires. Basile, looking quite pale, makes his way to the bus doors and steps outside. Yann slides over into the seat Arthur and Basile were in behind Eliott and I, and he crosses his arms, leaning over the top of our seat, head stretched in to talk to me.

“There’s no way I’m sharing a room with him if he’s up puking all night.”

I’m aware of my leg and Eliott’s and how Yann could see so I pull away and I feel his eyes on me. But first things first—

“Wait, I thought you and I were sharing a room?”

Yann looks at me with a blank expression, then shakes his head. “No, remember? Arthur and you wanted to share because Basile and I both snore.”

The panic starts to rise in me. “But I put you down as my roommate on our form! And Arthur is sharing with that guy he knows from volunteering at the library! So who am I going to be with?”

Yann shrugs, his large hand ruffling my hair, and I squirm under it, annoyed. “Sorry, man. Maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe there will be a bed free. Or maybe Basile will spend the night in the hospital and you can share with me? That would be great! I mean, not for Basile, but…”

**E:**

We sit on the side of the road with fogged up windows waiting for Basile to finish puking and get back on the bus for thirty five minutes. I know this because I have been playing on my phone, alone, as Lucas and Yann and Arthur argue about sleeping arrangements and I try not to interrupt every other second with, YOU CAN SHARE MY BED?! ITS COOL, NO HOMO, HAHA UNLESS YOU WANT SOME HOMO, IN WHICH CASE, YES, HOMO, LOTS OF HOMO. ALL OF THE HOMO.

But, yes, my headphones are on and I have no music playing, mainly so that I can hear what they’re saying and listen to Lucas get more and more snippy with his friends, and I honestly can’t blame him for barking at them. Between Arthur not paying much attention and swiping at the fogged up window to peer out and try to catch a glimpse of Basile, and Yann seeming increasingly annoyed, especially since he was sitting so close to Emma and Alex doing god knows what, even I was getting frustrated with how stilted the conversation had become.

“Okay but, Arthur, when did you get a new friend? And how does he just come along and replace me like that? What about the bro code?”

“The bro code is bros before hoes, Lucas,” Yann says, breaking into a dramatic yawn so big, that it looks almost fake.

“That’s so stupid! What does that even _mean_?” Lucas grumbles, and I try so hard not to smile at him, and how perfect this response is. _Please, tell me again how you’re not gay,_ I think to myself. Not that he’s told me he isn’t, just that… well, I noticed how quickly he pulled away from me when Yann stuck his head over into our little bus seat/universe, and ever since, he’s been stressing about where he’s going to sleep, when all of this could just be solved by him sleeping with me. I mean, in a bed with me—oh god, now I’ve thought about him SLEEPING with me and a rush of warmth floods my body and I suck in a deep breath trying to calm down and get a grip. Getting a boner on this bus is the absolute last thing I need.

**L:**

I cannot believe how fucking selfish Yann is being. Like??? Am I your best friend or not? Just ditch Basile, he can sleep in the bathroom because he’s sick. The bathtub! Put some pillows down and voila! A bed for Basile right next to the toilet where he can throw up all night long. And then I can have a bed and not have to go talk to Mrs. Miller about how I probably have to room with Brandon Denison, who still picks his nose.

“This is ridiculous!” I hiss at him, getting angrier and angrier the less he reacts, his face almost bored and unbothered. “Why don’t you care that you’ve left me all alone and now I’m going to have to room with someone horrible, like Brandon the nose picker?”

“You won’t be rooming with Brandon,” Arthur cuts in, rubbing his glasses clean on the bottom flap of his button down. “He’s rooming with Connor Kantin.”

I just stare at him, my nostrils flaring, as he finishes wiping his glasses and slides them back onto his face. His eyes widen when he sees the face I’m making, which is probably contorted from trying not to rip his fucking head off.

“Gee, thanks for that. Real helpful.” I stand up and make my way down the aisle of the bus to Mrs. Miller to confirm who I’m rooming with. She’s at the front of the bus, her silver and black hair swirled in a bun on her head, her nose deep in a chunky paperback.

“Hey, Mrs. Miller. I was just wondering about—“

She puts her hand up to stop me from talking, and, without looking up, she says, “No, I don’t know when we are leaving, if you have to go, go outside, and no, I do not want to play your idiotic game of truth or dare.”

I must look as confused as I am, because when I don’t move, she looks up at me, her annoyance faltering once she sees that it’s me.

“Oh, hi Lucas. Sorry about that.” She folds her book together, her one finger keeping her page.

“What did you want, love?” Mrs. Miller loves me because, during our Shakespeare unit, I volunteered to dress in drag to play Hippolyta in A Midsummer’s Night Dream, and she gave me an A. She told me that not only was I enthusiastic and good with physical comedy, but that she was so impressed with how brave I am, and how I’m not afraid to challenge and push myself.

“I was just wondering who I was sharing my room with for the weekend?”

She pulls a clipboard from under her coat beside her and scans down a list of names, room numbers on the side. I crane my neck to try and read it, to catch a glimpse of who I’m going to be falling asleep near (which is a pretty weird thing to not know).

Her brow furrows and she flips the page up, then flips it back down, still looking at the paper.

“And?” I ask, wringing my hands. Maybe she’s stalling because I’m with someone worse than Brandon the nose picker? Greg Wallis shit his pants once in gym class. That would be worse—definitely worse.

“Lucas, honey, I don’t seem to have you here on my list.”

My heart flies into my throat.

“What?” I say, but it comes out more like a croak, and with none of the anger I previously had, just utter panic and a dash of confusion.

“Well, see, I have your forms here, and your parents signatures but… for some reason you aren’t on my list of rooms. I booked just enough for 54 people, with 3 singles, one for myself, one for Mr. Erskin, and one for Eliott.”

I blink, wondering if I heard her correctly. My throat is croaky again, but this time for a different reason.

“Eliott?” I whisper, trying to figure out how this could be.

She nods. “Yeah, the new kid? Apparently he has really bad insomnia and he gets these night terrors that—“ her eyes widen, as if she’s given too much away, and she clears her throat. “Anyway, he’s the only student who has a single room.”

I nod in response, my mind reeling, trying to figure out what to do. Do I tell her that I can just sleep on the floor in Yann’s room? Do I tell her my brilliant pillow-bathtub idea for Basile? Do I ask if her and Mr. Erskin would mind sharing because then I wouldn’t have to be in _one bed_ with the hottest dude I’ve ever seen who definitely just did something that made me horny just by rubbing his leg with my leg and I couldn’t imagine trying to sleep in the same room as him, let alone—

“I mean, you wouldn’t have to share a bed or anything. You can ask the concierge for a cot. I’m sure that’ll be fine? Just ask Eliott and let me know if there are any problems. Yes, at least for tonight, that’ll work.” Happy with her solution, she gives me a small smile. “I’m sorry about all this, I don’t know how it happened…” I just nod and numbly find my way back to my seat, where Eliott has scooched over to the window in my absence, his eyes closed, his headphones clamped down over his crazy hair.

I mean, I guess I could just sleep on a cot as far away from him as possible? I could just change in the bathroom, say goodnight, jump into the cot and stare at the wall until I fell asleep? That could work, right? I’m not a total Neanderthal—I can control myself.

He moves slightly, his shoulder scrunching his brown jacket up between his head and the window, and with the movement, his shirt rides up and I see the plane of his stomach, the ripples of his abs, the white band of his underwear, the mouthwatering deep cut of the V that leads down, down, down…

His eyes flutter open and he blinks a few times, settling into a soft, easy, sleepy smile when he sees me, before closing his eyes once again.

And in that moment, it’s as if it’s been decided for me— with just that one glimpse of his body, just that one comfortable smile that said, “oh, it’s just you, okay cool, I’m safe, I can go back to sleep.” And with that, I’ve decided two things—that not only will I ask to stay in his room tonight, I will _not_ mention anything about a cot.

**E:**

I’m aware of him beside me but so tired that I can’t keep my eyes open as we bump along in the dark. When the lights come on in the bus, a collective groan clouds around us, and Lucas and I exchange a smile. I wince at the fluorescents, pull my headphones off and start to collect my things.

“You slept,” he says, sounding surprised.

“Sorry. I really did want to talk more but… the sleep just overtook me.”

“No, that’s not—“ he starts and stops, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. We can talk another time.”

The bus begins to unload and we stand awkwardly in our seat, waiting for the others to file out. I have to hunch a little, to keep from hitting my head of the curved metal roof, and I feel Lucas slides his eyes to me once, twice, three times before I look back at him.

“Do I have drool on my face, or something?” I ask him. “Or are you just amused that I’m almost going to hulk out of this sardine can?” With one hand I mime punching through the ceiling but he only gives me a tight smile.

“It’s not that.” He sighs, drumming his fingers along the top of the bus seat with impatience,his long fingers tapping out a rhythm like when he played my piano the other night.

“Actually,” he clears his throat, ducking his head down so I can’t see his eyes anymore. The crowd moves, and he steps out into the aisle. I follow closely behind, still waiting for him to continue. “I wanted to ask...so, I’m sure that you heard by now that my friends are assholes, and now I don’t have anyone to sleep with—“

Despite being behind him, I can tell just from the straightening of his spine that he regrets this phrasing immediately.

“—to room with, I mean, you know, to sleep in the room beside, I mean not BESIDE beside, or with but, oh fuck.”

I do my best not to smile, noticing the tips of his ears begin to turn pink.

“I know what you meant.” I tell him, the growl in my voice giving me away, my hunger and want thick, coating my mouth.

He clears his throat and we round the back of the bus to get our bags. I slide my jacket on as he turns to face me, letting out a long breath.

“I heard that you have a single room, and Mrs. Miller said you’re the only one I can share with, or I guess I could ask to share with Mr. Erskin but that would also be kind of sketchy.” He forces a laugh but I barely hear him. My whole body has stopped working and alarm bells are ringing around in my head and I have lost feeling of every part of myself except for that damn vice grip around my sternum, and it is practically clenching the breath right out of me.

He wants to share a room with me.

HE WANTS TO SHARE A ROOM WITH ME?!?

My brain starts to catch up and I remind myself that Mrs. Miller basically told him that he had to because there was a mistake but still.

Me.

Lucas.

My room.

OUR ROOM.

“I can tell this is totally freaking you out.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “I just thought maybe—“

“No,” I interrupt, placing my hand on his shoulder, steadying him to look at me, his pleading eyes blinking a few times in response.

“No?”

“No, I mean no, I’m not freaking out. I was just…” I trail off, trying to swallow around the lump in my throat. “I was just thinking. And yes, it’s fine.”

“Really?” His bright eyes soften with relief.

“Really.” I squeeze his shoulder in response, then pull my hand back and hike my bag up from the ground across my body, trying to be cool and casual, like I am not thinking about him and I rolling around in a bed all night. And maybe it’s the way his clear eyes are giving me all that extended eye contact and how it HAS to mean something, but either way I can’t help myself from saying what comes out next, can feel it flying out of my mouth before I can stop it, a sly smile sliding onto my face.

“This will be fun.”

I get what I want out of him—an eyebrow raise and a piercing look, a look that asks me to move closer, his head stretching slightly forward, closer, up to look me in the eyes, the tendons of his neck pulling and stretching so beautifully that I am tempted to plant my lips on the peach of his pulse, the lily of his neck.

He repeats it back to me like a dare, like a quiet commandment.

“This will be fun,” he repeats, his voice stripped of the playfulness I had, without the teasing grin. I take a gulp in response to the serious, deep tone of his voice, the way his yearning made him almost sound like someone else.

He grabs his bag and we walk into the crowded hotel foyer.

“Lead the way,” I mutter, still a little stunned that this is happening. That vice grip crawls up and tightens around my throat at seeing the same longing in him, and his face so plain and open when he said what he did, like a confession, like a prayer.

I almost miss it when he grins wickedly and, walking away, he whispers back:

“Oh, I will.” And then he makes his way to Mrs. Miller for our hotel room key and I move my bag in front of me to try and cover the growing hard on beneath my jeans, all of my blood rushing into my dick at the thought of Lucas taking control of me, leading the way.

And, god, will I ever let him.

**L:**

We stuff ourselves into the elevator, everyone cramming in and eager to get to their rooms and settle in, or eager for our teachers to get to their rooms so they can sneak out and party together. Eliott and I are squished together in the back corner, his gym bag in between us, the zipper digging into my back.

“One more?” Mrs. Miller slides herself in, causing me to look back at Eliott before his gym bag zipper punctures my kidneys.

“Can you move your bag, please?” I wince over my shoulder to try and convey how uncomfortable it is.

He hesitates but shifts the bag as much as he can with all of us sardined in here. He’s pressed up behind me and the heat of his body radiates through me. I feel it then, the distinct bulge that I back up into even further, the thick denim of his jeans unable to hide the impressive length of him. The hunger licks around inside me like a flame that blackens the glass it’s in— I can feel it marking me with lust. I feel reckless, both impressed and amused that just a few words from me had this kind of effect on him, and how just a few hours ago I was unclear if he felt the same greedy longing that I did. Now that I know he does, I want to use it, want to let our hunger for each other take over.

I want to take over.

I press back into him, into _it_ , and hear him suck in a breath, feel the swell of his dick against my ass. His breathing becomes ragged on the back of my neck and I slightly grind back into him, testing the waters. I can feel his chest rising and falling, and between us, pressed against each other like dried flowers in the page of a book, our hearts beat together in time, the thrumming of it loud in my ears. I roll my hips a little, twist them to rub against him and he coughs loudly into his hand, hopefully to cover up a moan of desire. I can’t help but grin, and then I can’t help but speed walk to the room— _our_ room— when we all filter out into the hallway.

I unlock the door and we both slip in, Eliott still clinging to his bag, which is in front of him again, as he tries to hide his enormous boner. We don’t say anything, just stare at each other, and I don’t take my eyes off of his when I slide the lock on the door into place, then secure the dead bolt. At the same time, we launch into each other, both his hands on my face and mine flung over his shoulders, one already feeling its way up through his beautiful mess of hair as our mouths make homes for one another, as our tongues burrow furiously, as if we never thought this moment would come, as if we were still hoping against hope not to wake up from this dream.

**E:**

Kissing Lucas is frenzied and I can’t catch my breath but it also feels like the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes, when you kiss someone for the first time, you kiss tentatively, at first, unsure of their style or where exactly your head should go, how you two will fit. With Lucas, every sloppy kiss sends me through the roof, every pull of my bottom lip between his gentle teeth and every lick of his tongue send tremors down to my abdomen, heat in between my legs, the baby boner that was there now rock solid and begging to be set free from the right prison of my pants. I can feel him, too, as he presses up against me, sliding my bag strap over my head and dropping it to the floor with a thunk, next to his. He nudges me against the door and I can feel him on my thigh, how it somehow makes this all feel real to think that not only are we shoving our tongues down each other’s throats, but that I make him hard, too. I feel him throb against me, his hips pinning me against the door, and I let out a small moan. Unlike the one on the elevator, I’m not able to fake cough over this one, and he pulls his face away from mine to look at me with a cat’s smile, playful and devious and triumphant. My cheeks flush, embarrassed, and I look away from him, sure that I’ve messed this up somehow, taken it too far. His hand wrenches my jaw down, forcing me to look at him, his beautiful ocean eyes scanning mine.

“Don’t be shy,” he says, and he leans forward into the gap between my neck and shoulder, and he licks down my neck from below my earlobe to my collarbone, nipping slightly with his teeth as I push my head back, opening my neck for better access. The lick sends a shiver of pleasure through me, and I reach my hands up roughly through his hair as he sucks on the thin skin of my neck and simultaneously grinds his hard cock into my thigh.

We start to slow down the kisses, both of us trying hard to breathe normally again. I trail a thumb over his lips, the way I’ve wanted to since I first saw him in the hallway my first day, since we first made eye contact in the common room. They’re just how I imagined— soft and wet and a little bit swollen from our dizzying kisses. I watch, as if out of my body, as he tilts his head and pulls my thumb into his mouth, sucking on it. His big eyes stare up at me, my thumb in the wet cave of his mouth. If it feels this good to have him suck my finger, I can’t stop myself from imagining how good it will feel to have him suck my dick. It twitches at the thought and he moves against it. He pulls me down into another long kiss and this time, I reach for his belt buckle, eager to feel him, eager to taste him.

“Wait,” he rasps, and I pull back, searching his face for what went wrong. Did I make this move too soon? Was the thumb sucking _not_ an invitation to blow each other?

He drags his hands out from the tangled mop of my hair and very gently slides one finger down my nose. It makes me shiver with want, makes me bite down on my lip to stop myself from reaching for his belt buckle again.

He backs up and sits on the edge of the bed, leaving me panting and desperate for more.

“First,” he says, leaning back on his arms, the long curve of him making the fabric of his pants pucker around one spot. I rake over him with my eyes and I see his shine, like he sees just how much I want him, and delights in it.

“I want you to strip for me.”

I blink for a moment, but his gaze is unwavering. He’s serious. I pull my shirt over my head and throw it on the floor. He takes me in— my chest, the little tattoo over my heart, down my abs and to the slight trail of hair from my belly button, descending below my jeans. I watch his eyes darken with lust, with want, and I start to slowly, ever so slowly, unbutton my pants.

 

**L:**

I watch him unzip his jeans and slide them down his hips, thighs, calves, and hop out of them with ease. He stands before me with only his black boxers on, and I don’t stare at his rippling stomach muscles or the way his chest rises and falls or the way his arms are all twisted with veins. I take all this in quickly and then my eyes rest on the tent of his boxers, his hard on now straining against the cotton fabric, a spot of wetness where the tip is. He puts his hands under the band of his boxers and then looks to me for permission. I almost jump him right there, but where’s the fun in that? I give him a slight nod and he shuffles out of his underwear, too, standing in front of me naked and vulnerable and annoyingly gorgeous. Every part of his body is beautiful— from his ruffled hair to his bobbing Adam’s apple down his sculpted chest to his jutting hipbones and what lays at the base of their V shape— or, doesn’t lay, so much as stand ready, long and thick, with a little bead of cum on the end of it, tantalizingly waiting for me to lick it off.

“Over here. Now.” I tell him, a little more gruffly than I mean to.

He steps towards me, closing the space between us. When he’s right in front of me, his stomach in line with my eyes, his proud cock right near my mouth, I reach out to explore the plains of his body, running my hands over his stomach, over his hips and down, over his firm ass. I grip his ass and pull him towards me, dipping my head down to meet the tip of his dick with my mouth, to swirl my tongue on that little tender spot right at the end. He gasps and I close my mouth around him, taking him deeper, pressing into his ass to guide him further into my mouth, my throat. I grab his balls and tug gently, slipping him out of my mouth to drag my tongue along the underside of his cock, tonguing the veins that pulse along the soft, smooth skin of him. I dip my head even lower to put his balls in my mouth, and when I do his knees shake, a moan escaping from his lips.

I pull back and look up at him, his face dazed, his chiseled cheeks flush with pink heat. He blinks at me, his eyes wide, and then just stares at me, his breaths coming heavy and quick, wondering what we’re going to do next.

“Now it’s your turn to undress me.” I say, and he flips my shirt over my head so fast that it shocks me, and I start to laugh. He grins back and then reaches for my belt buckle, getting onto his knees.

His hands move swiftly to undo my pants, pull them out from underneath me. He leaves my underwear on and slides his hands up and down my legs, his fingertips grazing the soft skin of my inner thighs, my dick stirring at his hot breath as he leans over and puts his mouth around me, the thin layer of underwear between us. He blows his warm breath through the fabric, those intense cat eyes of his on mine, as I watch him toy with the elastic band of my underwear, his fingers dipping under the band in a teasing way, venturing down but not far enough, not close enough to where I want him to be.

“Eliott, I swear to god—“ I wind my hand through his mess of hair and hold his head back to look at me, our eyes meeting, drinking each other in. I stretch forward to kiss him, our tongues sliding around with ease, his mouth open and hungry and wanting. My hands still find their way through his hair and as I gently bite his bottom lip, I press my hard cock—still in my underwear—to his chest, urging him on.

He trails kisses down my chest and I lie back, my fingers stroking his scalp, his ears, the nape of his neck as he gets closer, his body full of heat, mine pulsing with hunger, with want. His tongue slips under the band of my underwear and flicks back out again, the way his fingers did. But this time, his hands slide up my thighs and he cups me gently, our skin touching and quickly bursting into flames.

**E:**

I don’t know how I’m supposed to devour Lucas when all I want to do is touch every part of him, kiss every inch of skin and every freckle, every tiny hair that covers his body. But I can tell he’s getting impatient, can feel him squirming under me the closer I get to his dick, the longer I take to get there, my hands massaging his inner thighs, then his balls.

When I pull his underwear off, I don’t even get it to the floor before putting him in my mouth, and the sound that escapes from him stirs my own cock, makes it throb and ache for the wetness of his mouth, for the feeling of his skin. His fingertips grip my head and massage my scalp in a series of frenzied swirls, and he puts pressure into the pads of his fingertips when he wants me to suck him further, to take him deeper, then loosens when I am to pull back. With these slight indications, I follow his lead, increasing my speed when he signals for me to, licking and sucking and gripping the base of him with my hand. The sloppiness of my mouth on him makes him moan as I go faster, and when he drops his hands from my head I pull my mouth off of him, wondering what it is he wants next, just hoping to make him fill and burst and feel so, so good, as good as he makes me feel every time his eyes light me on fire.

“Damn,” he huffs through the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he pulls himself up to a seated position, and I get up on the bed to join him.

I lean into him, our foreheads touching. I can feel the small beads of sweat between our foreheads when they come together, though I don’t know if they’re mine or his. He drags his thumb along my jaw and runs it softly around my ear, sending shivers through me.

“What now?” I ask him, and it comes out in a breathy, urgent whisper.

He lightly trails his fingers down my chest, circling my nipples, making their way down towards my belly button, the head of my cock still wet and throbbing between us, both of us waiting for what’s next.

“I told you I’ll take the lead, didn’t I?” He smirks at me, and I nod as he crushes his mouth to mine, a kiss full of heat and frantic tongues before he pulls away and gets up off the bed.

I watch his perfect ass as he walks over to his bag and unzips it. He comes over with a bottle of lube and my face must show my surprise, my amazement at how bold and brazen he is, how he is both nothing like I expected and yet everything I’ve wanted.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, one hand cupping my chin gently, his eyes searching mine.

I nod and he leans down, his lips barely touching mine at first, and I open my mouth to him as he nudges me backwards. I move up the bed with him above me, kissing me, his hair swinging down to graze my nose, making me grin in the middle of our kiss, a grin that he returns until we both open our eyes and I swear—it’s like we step into each other’s souls.

 

**L:**

I kiss the skin pulled tight over his collarbone, kiss down to the tattoo over his heart, swipe my tongue out to graze his nipple, eliciting a heavenly gasp from his lips. He is leaning up against the headboard of the bed now, watching me curiously as I uncap the lube and put some on my finger. I watch his adam’s apple bob in his throat as he gulps.

“I’m assuming you haven’t done this before?” I ask him, but I know the answer--at least, from the look on his face, a mix of nerves and want in the bite of his own bottom lip, I think I know the answer.

He shakes his head slightly, his cheeks growing pinker than they already were, flushed in our foreplay.

“And you?” He asks, his voice strained. “Have you been with many guys?”

I shrug, trying to be coy, while trailing my lube-free hand over the muscles of his thighs, the light hair that fuzzes across my palms as I inch closer to him.

“A few,” I say, bending down to lick the slow drip of pre-cum from his tip. He sucks in a dizzying breath, his hands gripping the sheets beside him to steady him.

“Are you...do you want to do this?” I ask, wanting to keep up my ‘daddy-takes-the-lead’ role but also not do something he’s uncomfortable with.

“Please,” he breathes, and nods his head. I stare into his eyes as I take the length of his cock in one hand and let the other one finds its way, the lube warming up on his skin as I press my finger around his hole. I slide my hand over his wet, pink head, using the moisture to make the movements smoother, the grip and pull of him in my hand. He’s watching me, and I stare back at him as I push one finger into him, sliding in to the first knuckle. His pupils are lust-blown and dark, his chest rising and falling with the sort of panting that drives me absolutely insane. I move my finger inside him slowly, letting him get used to the feeling, letting him stretch around me. His head falls back, the edge of his chiseled jaw jutting forward as I push the full length of my finger into him.

**E:**

Lucas is inside me and I would almost pinch myself to make sure this was real if it weren’t for his hand holding and caressing my dick and his literal finger in my ass. The sensation of his finger exploring inside me feels so good, I almost want him to just find that spot and give me two or three tight jerks in his fist and I would absolutely fall apart in his hands. But he doesn’t, just watches me hungrily as he lightly grazes that sweet spot inside me. The edges of my vision get blurry, and I can’t stop the noise that comes out of me, a low whine when his finger moves away from it. He moves up the bed a little, his mouth touching mine at the same moment another one of his fingers begins feeling its way around me. He slips his tongue into my mouth and it is hot and his grip on my dick is tight and his second finger pushes its way in slowly but with some force, and I kiss my response into his mouth, hoping that the pressure building in me won’t come too soon, that Lucas will be able to guide me wherever it is he has in mind and I won’t get there too early.

“Oh, holy fuck,” I groan into his mouth, as he begins to use a scissoring motion with his two fingers inside of me, stretching and moving with a delightful kind of pressure. He reaches for that spot again and this time stays there for a pulsing moment before his other hand leaves my dick and I open my eyes to his cat’s smile.

“How does it feel, baby,” he whispers, his fingers continuing to move inside me and make me squirm.

“Good.” It’s all I manage in the bit of breath I have left, the part of me trying so hard to focus and not fall to pieces under his touch.

“Good?” He hisses and I let out another moan, this time louder than before.

“I mean, it’s fucking perfect,” I tell him, and he smiles into my neck, his hair falling over my cheeks, dusting me lightly as he ducks down to nibble at my throat, to suck at the thin skin there while his fingers drive me wild.

“Ready for more?” He growls, biting down on my shoulder until I yelp a little, every nerve ending in me igniting and spinning in dizzying circles with his hot breath and his sharp teeth and his fucking magical piano fingers, playing me so well. He suddenly stops, looking down at me, and I realize that he’s waiting for my permission again. I try not to swoon on the spot, but I’m already pretty love-wrecked, my body a ship about to shatter in his stormy ocean eyes.

“What did you have in mind?” I ask, and he licks his lips, his eyes looking over at the bottle of lube suggestively.

“I want to fuck you.” He tells me, and I think I momentarily lose feeling in my body and then it comes rushing back, every part of me tingling like a bundle of nerves because the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life, with his blue eyes and flirty eyebrow raises and sticky-up hair, just said...that.

And he means it.

He looks at me again, waiting.

I nod my head, just slightly at first, and then furiously.

“Yes, oh, god please. Yes, yes, yes.” I’ve given away any sense of pride or ego or self-preservation I had to this man, and with him still inside me and also kind of on top of me, I don’t really care. I just need him to fuck me. Now. Yesterday. Forever more.

**L:**

His hair flops around when he nods, and he says yes so many times I lose track, my grin overtaking my face. I let out a small laugh as I slowly glide my fingers out of him.

I kiss him, our mouths pressed together, firm and hot and deep.

“So I guess that’s a ‘yes,’ then?” He groans in response, knows I’m making fun of him, even now. I am actually delighted at his consent--so enthusiastic--but also at the fact that I get to be the first one to fuck Eliott fucking god-tier elite model Demaury. I feel a bit of pressure to make it really good, and I’m glad that he hasn’t been touching me or playing with me much as I’ve loosened him up--otherwise I don’t know how long I would last in him.

I reach over and pull a condom on, sliding the lube over it. He looks from my cock in my hands up to my eyes, and I can see how much he wants me. I almost find it funny that just a few hours ago, we were both trying so hard to hide this thing that is now laying here, naked between us, how sometimes what’s unspoken can unspool magically with a little bit of time, and only one bed.

“How do you want me?” He asks, leaning on his hands as if he’s about to get up.

My cock throbs in my hand, and I stare daggers at him. “If you want this to happen,” I say, glancing down at my dick, “then you absolutely CANNOT say things like that.”

“I was just trying to--” he starts, but I cut him off, the lust in my body taking over, my blood rioting and frenzied as we kiss frantically, breathlessly.

“I want you every single fucking way,” I tell him, nudging myself between his thighs and pulling him by the waist so that his back is flat on the matress. “But we’ll start like this, first.”

Flinging one of his legs onto my shoulder, I lower myself down. I rub the head of my slick cock around his hole, steadying it right at the entrance after getting him ready. He grips the blankets beside him, scrunching them up in anticipation, and I push forward slowly, the blunt head of my cock entering him. His whole body tenses, and he gasps loudly, exhales when I let it sit there and don’t move anymore, just turn my head to kiss his knee up on my shoulder.

“I’m gonna give you some more,” I tell him, and fuckkkkk it feels so good to push into him a little deeper. He’s so tight and I can see the sweat glistening on his forehead and his head is thrown back, his whole neck exposed, and if I could move from here to bite at his perfect throat, I would, but sinking my cock into him feels too fucking good to move away from, even for that neck of his.

I move my hips very slowly, watching carefully to see his reactions--his hands loosening their grip a little, his breath, still quick and stilted. I push into him with each hip rotation, trying to give him all of me while also hitting him right where I know he wants it, where my fingers touched earlier, where I want to fuck him until he sees stars.

I know I’ve hit it when he thrusts his hips and bucks into me, when his ass is flush with my pelvis, our bodies as close as they can be. I pull myself out and into him, tapping that spot with every stroke, rhythmically moving in and out of Eliott fucking Demaury, like this is a goddamn dream.

He tosses his other leg up over my shoulder, and I grip his hips with one hand, holding myself up with the other as I move in and almost-out of him.

**E:**

I’m moaning REALLY fucking loud now, and I know it, but it’s not something that can be helped. I cannot believe Lucas is fucking me, and when he pushes into me with his whole cock, he hits this place that sends volts and zaps of electicity throughout my body. My vision doesn’t just get blurry, EVERYTHING gets blurry--all of my limbs, the sizzle of nerves in my stomach, the throb of want in my dick, the tapdancing of my heart. Every piece of logic and sense that I had left, packs up and hitches a freight town out of town because nothing in the history of the world has felt like this--a man’s body pressed up against me, my legs folded over his shoulders, his wild hair as he watches me unravel underneath him. He keeps pushing into me and hitting that spot, into me and hitting it, and I can feel what was building inside of me screaming to get out, everything in my body narrows its focus to the sparking flames in my abdomen, the heat in my thighs, the clench of my ass as he hits it again and--

“Oh, fuck, I’m--” and he knows but he doesn’t stop, doesnt stop when I swear, when my whole body convulses with pleasure, electric and sending shockwaves out from the centre of me. He doesn’t stop when I come in long, thick streams, hitting myself in the chest, or when my legs shudder around him, or when I’m gasping for air afterwards.

Despite my ragged breathing and how completely wrecked I am laying beneath him, he pushed into me a few more times and it’s almost unbearable, everything so sensitive and tender and screaming with nerve-endings and sensation overload until he, too, comes, and I can see it in his face, can feel it in the jerk of his tight body up against me.

He pulls out of me and flops backwards on the bed, both of us sweat-soaked and panting, the whole world around us a dizzying mess. He reaches over the side of the bed and grabs a towel, wipes me off and then himself, chucks the condom into the garbage bin. He climbs back up the bed and nestles his head in the crook of my armpit, his face proud and his smile dreamy.

“So?” He says, as if he can’t tell that I liked it, fucking loved it, fucking died and went to heaven and then came back to myself just so that he would fuck me again, maybe twenty minutes from now or something. But I don’t say this, though he knows.

Outloud I say, “I mean, it was okay,” and I shrug my shoulders. He flicks me in the nipple and it jolts through my whole body, nerve endings still fragile. “Hey!” I laugh, and he fake pouts.

“It was incredible,” I tell him, and he stretches his chin up to my face for a kiss. I turn into it, turn my whole body to face him, his face cupped in my hands as we kiss slowly, our tongues soft and exploring.

Our faces come apart and he looks me clear in the eyes.

“What now?” He says, and I know he’s talking about things generally-- what happens now? Do we tell people? Is this a thing? Are we in a relationship? God, I don’t think I could handle it if this was just a one-night stand…

“I believe someone said they wanted me, and I quote, ‘every single fucking way.’”

He grins at this, and rolls his eyes back and then tucks himself into my arms as I kiss his forehead.

I don’t know what the sunrise will bring, but I doubt it will be anything other than Lucas and I in the same bed, and right now, that is magic enough for me.


End file.
